Author Archives: reubenwoolley
Six poems by J. D. Nelson
the curly mind linguistically innovative poetry - weird & risky
friendship artichoke listener
the can of ham is a new amazing hup
open it up for disgusted guests
there’s nothing to digest
this is my specialty
disappearing from view
I’m buying another planet
& my western lobes are tingling
earth is a many mirrored h.o.b.e.
with linus the real seventh
now we have a brain
and in the brain an egg
and in the egg a beast
the roving hand is a hard rock lucky
wood you start
the famous tree to disguise the art
the fighting tree
the words were like diamonds in the poem
and that something is the morning of the rain
the key to the brain being online and wet-wired
that rainbow is the ticking hand
what is white rice
half of them are in the belly by now
that head was a light burg so they say
this was the best earth could do at…
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2019, by Harry Gallagher
Five preview poems from my new book, ‘this hall of several tortures’, reuben woolley
My new collection, ‘this hall of several tortures’, reuben woolley, now published by KFS Press
To get my new collection direct from the publisher, go to:
If you want a signed copy (+ 6 pounds p&p for UK and EU, much less for Spain, of course, because that’s where I live!), you can message me on Facebook or email me at:
Wombwell Rainbow Interviews: Razielle Aigen
Wombwell Rainbow Interviews
I am honoured and privileged that the following writers local, national and international have agreed to be interviewed by me. I gave the writers two options: an emailed list of questions or a more fluid interview via messenger.
The usual ground is covered about motivation, daily routines and work ethic, but some surprises too. Some of these fiction writers you may know, others may be new to you. I hope you enjoy the experience as much as I do.
is a Montreal-born writer and artist. Her chapbook, “Light Waves The Leaves” is forthcoming from above/ground press (2020). Her poems appear in Entropy, Deluge, Contemporary Verse 2, Bad Dog Review, Dovecote Magazine, Half a Grapefruit, Sewer Lid, Five:2:One, California Quarterly, and elsewhere. Razielle holds a B.A. in History and Contemporary Studies from Dalhousie/King’s University, and is an alumna of The Writer’s Studio at Simon Fraser University…
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Ladylike, by Myriam San Marco
Three poems by Rodney Wood
DEATH BY THE EXPRESS NEWSPAPER
(i.m. Bill, my neighbour)
SURRENDER, PLOTS, DIVISION, SCREW YOU,
SHOCK, WARNING, CIVIL WAR, END OF EU,
GREEDY BANKS, RECESSION BOMBSHELL,
REAL CATASTROPHE, COLLAPSE, BETRAYAL
I take Bill to A&E to see a Consultant who says
Stop reading the EXPRESS. It causes heart disease,
hypertension, kidney failure, blurred and distorted vision,
obesity, excessive drinking and erectile dysfunction.
DEMANDS, PANIC, APPALLING, LIAR, CHAOS,
DOOMSDAY REPORTS, TORN APART, LASHES,
MASSIVE CURB ON MIGRANTS, CRISIS, SMASHED,
REVOLT, SHAMEFUL, VILE, DESTROYED, GUTTED
but it’s hard for Bill to stop reading because
it’s part of his daily routine, the EXPRESS
says what he and everyone thinks, he adores
the letters, comments and will devour until he dies
the hard truth – ATTACKS, WORLD WAR 3 FEARS,
ROWS, DEFEAT, SOCIETY IS BOILING, TEARS,
HYPOCRITE, NO REMORSE, TIMEBOMB, CLASH,
SCRAMBLE, SCANDAL, ALERT, SAVAGE BACKLASH
pickers carry him from his home, with the EXPRESS
spread over him like…
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Two poems by Mike Ferguson
What is it with Luke and John and their competing optimisms? That multi-media pervasiveness. Furniture restoration lays down a marker in its lifting to a terrestrial pristine. There is Powerheart G3 Pro, Lifeline, Defibtech, HeartSine samaritan 360p, but a missed trick in the absence of Lazarus Original. When the pampas stems returned after all those years. Imagine the multitude of lazaruses from plague and war that aren’t zombiefied. This ‘straightening from under again’ transcends as a more telluric phrase. How we salve disappointment in mocking the grandiloquence of redemption. In searching for a pun, there is ‘raising hell’ and then the corrective of ‘raisin bread’.
Not that, but the one about a slave to suffering and fantasy. Transcends one religion to the next conscription. It is a story I disdain with all my will and yet live every day. Them and Uz. Even the…
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Last Chance, by Tim Evans
The sea rises.
A woman sits by the shore,
Singing the lost songs of love and exile.
And there shall be fires too,
Floods and hurricanoes,
As the sea rises
And the ocean swells
And the salt waves slap
Against the wet caves
Of our imagination.
Condemned to one last chance.
Why are you deaf and dumb?
Are we the last people?
Did these lakes and hills belong to us
Or we to them?
Is this our honour?
To be the last defenders
Of a wounded planet?
It was not ‘we’ who sucked up oil from the veins of the earth,
It was not ‘we’ who created moving cities of automobiles
Headlights blazing through the motorways of night.
It was you – B.P, Shell, Total, Exxon Mobil,
Lukoil & Chevron,
GM, Ford, Honda, Chrysler
Rolls-Royce and Mercedes,
It is from your black fangs
That the oil…
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